I flip through his folder. Fluid balance, temperature, blood pressure, drug chart. Improvements everywhere. The fluid in his lungs is drying up, the scars from his bowel surgery receding nicely. Three days ago he could have been dead.

"And I don't have to tell you this, I'm sure you've read your own chart - heck, you could teach me a thing or two about what these readings means." I smile. Mr Wilson was an army surgeon. He's seen enough of the cruel realities of life, of love, loss and what it means to die for your country. And he remembers. I know he's no doddering old fool. Those eyes say it all.

He turns away. Stares out the window, at the sun setting over the London skyline. I bet he remembers what it used to look like. How many times must he have stared at the Houses of Parliament, wondering if the people inside knew how much he was sacrificing so they could keep their lives?

"Some wounds don't heal."

I blink. I don't think he's talking about the scars on his stomach.

"After a while, son...after a while, you start thinking about what reallymatters."

It is only then that I notice what he's been doing with his hands. The dying sun glints off the ring on his finger as he twirls it round and round.

I put back his folder and begin muttering my goodbyes, wanting to give him some privacy.

"And the worst thing is...you remember. You remember everything. And you wonder if things could've gone differently." He looks down at the ring.

"Maybe...maybe if I hadn't been so selfish...she wouldn't have left. Maybe if I'd spent more time with her. If I hadn't been away from home all the time..." His voice trails off.

I hesitate. I am only a medical student. What right do I have to offer judgment? This thin frail figure on the bed before me could easily give me a tongue-lashing for forgetting my place with patients. And he would be right. But I venture anyway.

"Mr Wilson...I doubt selfish is a word anyone would use to describe you. Ever."

He turns to me, a faint smile creasing his face. Those eyes again.

"You're kind. And I shouldn't be wasting your time with an old man's mutterings. Go home, son. It's late."

I smile back, and promise to come look in on him tomorrow. As I leave, I hear his voice again.

"Just remember - some wounds never heal. The textbooks don't tell you that." I turn around. He isn't looking at me. The ring gleams as he turns it round and round.

I shut the door behind me, leaving him to his memories. For the briefest of moments, I think he'd be happier if he had died. I wonder if that makes me a bad person.

Image: "The hole in me since the day you died", copyright Mary Molnar.

15 comments:

We have an old lady in Cardio, who is very very thin and her foot is missing toes because of post-traumatic osteomyelitits. The thing is that she, frail and thin, as you described the man, is always the one insisting that we try once more on her broken veins till we get a blood sample.

It's clear that she is in pain, but if she flinches she apologises and requests that we don't pay any attention to her and try to learn as much as we can from her.

Sweet man. Thats why you (medical students) are important. Patients seem to tell us things they'd never say to the big guns. Im sure he felt a little different after telling you all that. Turns out i was right when i said you would change people's lives. Always one patient at a time :-)

Sweet man. Thats why you (medical students) are important. Patients seem to tell us things they'd never say to the big guns. Im sure he felt a little different after telling you all that. Turns out i was right when i said you would change people's lives. Always one patient at a time :-)

What do you mean, you've been back for ages? Well, after checking your site every day for about 5 years I gave up on you and only found out that you were back by following a link from a site where you posted a comment.

The Angry Medic Elsewhere

About Me

The Angry Medic is an idiot who got into Cambridge University due to his unusually attractive eyelashes. For the past 6 years he has been ranting his way through the freakshow and wide-screen madness that is the medical course at Cambridge and Imperial College London, and finding time to express an opinion on medicine, social issues, and anything else he considers pains in the gluteal region. He can now be found regularly endangering patients' lives (and being endangered in return) somewhere in Southeast Asia.

Have you been overly enthralled by the allure of Cambridge and want to give it a crack? Has someone hit you on the head with a large frying pan and now you want to go to medical school? Do you want to join me in a suicidal leap off the Bridge of Sighs? Or have you a rant more boring than mine? Drop me a line at angrymedic [at] gmail [dot] com

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All persons and events described on this blog are fictional unless explicitly stated otherwise and are intended purely for entertainment purposes only. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, or events past or present is purely coincidental.

The contents of this blog are not intended to cause offense to anyone. No university students were harmed in the creation of this blog (well okay, maybe one).